


Eyes Fixed On the Sun

by nymja



Category: Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic
Genre: F/M, Gen, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-29
Updated: 2013-01-29
Packaged: 2017-11-27 10:10:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/660762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nymja/pseuds/nymja
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The parts of the lightsaber line up perfectly. The memories that accompany them do not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eyes Fixed On the Sun

There's a comfort to the garage aboard the  _Ebon Hawk._ A focus on the mundaner things that gives the Exile some peace as she listens to Bao-Dur weld durasteel plates together with a plasma torch, his remote hovering and cooling behind him. The workbench lies in front of her, her lightsaber lying there in all its deconstructed glory as she performs some routine maintenance.   
  
Heavily unneeded maintenance, but Bao-Dur doesn't make a comment, just like the Exile doesn't say out loud that those particular plates had already been rewelded by her tech shortly after they had left Nar Shaddaa.  
  
From the Hutt city planet it had only been a short burst to Dantooine.  
  
And now, as they left the planet that held what had once been the great Jedi Enclave- what had once been her home- the Exile had excused herself from meditation with Mical in order to perform routine maintenance on her lightsaber.  
  
The parts line up neatly. It's rare, really, for lightsaber components to fit so cleanly. But Bao-Dur knew his ways around weapons of war, and the instructions had been custom and simple.  
  
A focusing lens.  
  
 _"It's easier, if you bend your knees slightly. Widens your stance and presents a more grounded center of balance."_  
  
Meetra had frozen mid form, turning to the sound of the voice that she had heard a few times around the Enclave but had never really heard directed at her.  
  
 _A pair of padawans, a few years above her in training, lean against the rock outcroppings in the middle of the field. And any youngling in the Enclave would recognize the top most pupils of Master Vandar._  
  
Revan says nothing, a small smirk on her face as she tosses an apple into the air, catches it, and takes a crisp bite.  
Alek, however, takes a step forward.  
  
"Ataru is simple. You're overthinking." He grabs his lightsaber, a bright blue emitting with a hiss as he mimics the steps Meetra had been attempting earlier, far more gracefully and skillfully.  
  
Disappointment floods her. She had been out here for about four standard hours and there had been next to no improvement.  
  
"Follow me," the prodigy student instructs, moving through Ataru again.  
  
Meetra swallows, takes a breath, and matches his footing, green and blue dancing around each other as Revan sits to the side, eating the apple thoughtfully.  
  
The Exile takes a cloth and wipes away some of the grime. It gets foggy from overuse.  
  
As soon as she is satisfied that it is clean enough, she places it inside the hilt and moves to the fencing emitter.  
  
 _Her whole body aches as Alek disengages the lightsaber, a smile on his face as he steps off of her defeated body and offers Meetra a hand to pull her up._  
  
She groans, but takes it.   
  
"You've improved."  
  
She gives a humble smile, thankful enough for the compliment that she doesn't plan on refuting it. "Revan would disagree."  
  
Something sad flitters through her friend's eyes before a smile overtakes it, "Revan would disagree about many things."  
  
Meetra sits up, taking a towel and wiping away the sweat from the spar, "So...the rumors are true then."  
  
Alek sits next to her, slowly releasing his hand from hers, "We are leaving before the next sun cycle," he stares at her, "A Jedi can't stand aside when life is in danger, you know that."  
  
She's hesitant, slightly, "The Council..."  
  
"Is afraid."  
  
"And you?"  
  
Alek throws the towel on the ground and stands.  
  
"Revan needs me," he stares down at her, "She needs us both."  
  
She stands next to him, "What about you, Alek?"  
  
"...I can't afford to be afraid."  
 __  
It's a long silence. It's a silence that Meetra wonders on her friend, on Revan, who is a friend as well but one that is not as flawed, not as cowardly as Meetra feels in that moment.  
  
It's a very long silence, but Alek waits.  
  
"I will do what's right...for the galaxy." She whispers.  
  
Alek turns to her, opening his mouth as if to say something before they are interrupted by Revan arriving.  
  
She stares at them both, and gives a determined smile.  
  
"We leave in two days."  
  
Nothing of note needs to be fixed with the fencing emitter. But the Exile tightens up its calibrations anyways before moving on to the vibration cell.  
  
 _War is something that comes to the General with surprising ease._  
She leaves Meetra Surik behind as soon as the rank replaces it. And it's for the best, because a part of her is convinced that Meetra would not survive this fight.

 _And she notices that she is not the only changing in order to make it through until the very end. Revan starts wearing a mask, Alek hasn't worn Jedi robes in months._  
  
They are growing too big, too strong, for those.  
  
And for a while, the General entertained the hope of all of them making through this even though they have fractured.  
  
  
But, it tuns out,  they are not strong enough.   
Not as strong as they need to be, as vibroblades and blasters cut through their troops. Kill their friends.   
  
An ambush.  
  
The General is cutting in kind, her cyan blade sputtering and hissing as it makes little work of those who would threaten peace.  
  
"MEETRA-!"  
  
She remembers hearing the cry. It's the only thing that stops her dance, and she goes very, very still when she hears who's voice it is that is crying out in a panic.  
  
Revan is kneeling on the ground, one hand outstretched and shoving Mandalorians away from her and the corpse that her other hand is cradling under the back of the head on her lap.  
  
The General sees red.   
The soles of his boots.  
The blood on the ground.  
The armor she shreds as she fights her way to Revan's side.  
  
" **SAVE HIM!** "  _Revan commands, as if it is in Meetra's power to defy death, as if the General can do the impossible._  
  
Meetra doesn't need to ask who it is. The three of them have bonded, over the course of the war. There is only one person that could get Revan's eyes to tear.  
  
But there is no way to recognize Alek on the ground. There is no way to see her dear friend's face when it's coated in blood.  
  
When half of it is lying three feet away on the ground.  
   
Alek's jaw soon receives company as the bodies fall, the ones Revan is tearing through in her rage and her terrible grief.  
  
The General can't cry as she tries to heal him, as she tries to bring him back from the brink.  
As she tries not to see that it's a lightsaber wound.  
  
He had kissed her on the forehead before they left.  
  
All that's left is the crystal. And the Exile stares at it for a long time. It's flawed, not as nice as the one in her original lightsaber, and...as fickle as it is, the color isn't right. Crimson flickers back in the light cast by Bao-Dur's torch, and the Exile holds it simply in the palm of her hand.  
  
It's almost weightless.  
  
Her fingers close around it, one by one until she no longer sees its imperfections or hue, hands moving to systematically place the crystal into her hilt.  
  
 _Her return to the known galaxy is marked with news. For a long while, there isn't a day that goes by where she doesn't discover the fates of her comrades- doesn't read a holonet entry and see a memoriam for someone she had fought beside._  
  
Darth Malak had been slain.  
Revan had departed to battle the True Sith.  
The Prodigal Knight returns a hero.  
  
She can't feel anything but numb, as she hears news. The part of her that formed attachments, that loved, has been closed and emptied. An ideal Jedi.  
  
The Exile has her first drink and wonders if anyone knew that Revan used to climb dangerously high trees to get apples, if Malak was once a student kind enough to help a mediocre youngling through her Ataru forms.  
  
The Exile has her second drink and wonders if  there is anyone left who would care to know.   
  
Her third drink is for Revan.  
Her fourth and fifth are for Alek.  
Her sixth is her last, and it's for a little girl named Meetra.  
  
The red light encompasses the garage, and Bao-Dur turns at hearing the familiar  _snap-hiss,_ a questioning look on his face as he sees the vermillion blade.  
  
"General...?"  
  
The Exile gives a sad smile, "I'll get a new crystal once we land on Korriban."  
  
The Iridonian stares, but knowingly nods and turns back to his already complete work.


End file.
